Complementary
by bastwin
Summary: What would have happened if Narcissa Malfoy had approached Albus Dumbledore rather than Severus Snape? The whole wizarding war would have been changed. A Dramione fanfiction. AU beginning sixth year. Slow burn.
1. Introduction

_Complementary: Introduction_

Dumbledore smiled softly. "My dear, I know that Draco is being misled. I do not truly think that he would kill me."

"He is not weak," Narcissa replied sharply.

"You are correct. But he is not evil."

The old man was right.

"He will spy for you and your Order," she said quickly. She had not come unprepared for this scenario. She had simply hoped that she would not have to put her and her husband's lives in further jeopardy to do so. But Narcissa would do whatever it took to protect her son, her bright-haired boy.

He was her everything. She would stop her heart in a moment if only to give one more beat to his.

**Hello everyone and welcome to our first every story on this site. **

**This story is a Harry Potter, Dramione-oriented AU that takes place sixth year, imaging a plot where Narcissa makes a deal for Draco's protection with Dumbledore rather than Snape. **

**This is a two person duo, Caroline helps plan chapters and Emily writes them. **

**We're both currently in university, so we ask that you guys have a little patience with us when it comes to uploading.**

**That being said, we will do our absolute best and would love you guys' feedback. **

**Thanks so much and please enjoy.**

**-bastwin**


	2. The Deal

Chapter 1: The Deal

Narcissa Malfoy's black heels clicked through the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was not a student in sight, as they had all gone home for Christmas, and the only living creatures Narcissa encountered were the house elves that bowed into the shadows at her passing.

Narcissa remembered her days as a student, running around these very halls with Bella and Andromeda. She ran her hand along the wall as she walked, and her mind flashed to when she had done the same as a child, her fingertips guiding her way as her eyes were glued to the pages of a book. She remembered Lucius, only a child then himself, tugging at her blonde braid. She remembered his smirk as she shot him a glare. A small smile caught on her lips, a more and more rare phenomenon.

But nostalgic reminiscences were not what found Narcissa Malfoy at Hogwarts this wintery night.

The great stone gargoyle loomed out of the darkness, lit only by cold moonlight through a lone window. Narcissa waved her wand and muttered a spell. Stone scraping against stone echoed through the silent castle as the gargoyle slowly turned, revealing a spiraling staircase.

Narcissa knocked on the great oak door that stood alone at the top, which, after a single knock, began to slowly open inwards. The witch stepped inside.

The room was bathed in warm light from the floating candles that surrounded a desk at the head of the room upon which were piles of books seemingly as old as time and bits of crumbled cheese and bread. A fire crackled in the corner.

Narcissa walked around the room, touching a book on the bookshelf here and a glass vial there. She glanced about impatiently. Where was the old man?

Dumbledore had barely been the headmaster for a decade when Narcissa first came to Hogwarts. His beard had been much shorter then than the last time she had seen him at a quidditch match, when it had come dangerously close to touching his toes. He had been kind to Narcissa. And to Bella. And Andromeda, of course, too. Andromeda had always been difficult to dislike.

Narcissa frowned.

She missed her sister. But Andromeda was a blood traitor and nothing more. Toujours Pur had been spat at and stomped on.

"Mrs. Malfoy, what a surprise," came a voice.

Dumbledore emerged from a door hidden by a rich red tapestry and gazed at the Malfoy matriarch through his half-moon spectacles. If he was indeed surprised by her presence, he did not show it. Narcissa had to give him credit for that.

"What can I do for you this fine evening," the old wizard asked, sweeping his faded blue robes back as he sat behind his desk in a chair that appeared to be almost as old as he was.

"I need to make a deal with you and you would be a fool not to agree," Narcissa replied curtly, standing in front of Dumbledore, her hands clasped together.

"And what might that be, my dear?"

"My son, Draco. He is going to kill you. The Dark Lord has ordered him to"

Dumbledore looked up at Narcissa and shifted, sighing softly.

Had he been expecting this?

"I see," the wizard said, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

Narcissa was not about to tell him that there was no way in bloody hell that she would ever let her son murder anybody. No, she was going to use this opportunity to her advantage. The Dark Lord had his agenda, but Narcissa Malfoy had hers.

"I will make sure that this does not happen," she said simply. "But in return, you will give Draco safety. You and I both know that this time of inactivity will crumble into chaos. And soon. I want you to do everything in your power to make sure my son is left unharmed."

Dumbledore smiled softly. "My dear, I know that Draco is being misled. I do not truly think that he would kill me."

"He is not weak," Narcissa replied sharply.

"You are correct. But he is not evil."

The old man was right.

"He will spy for you and your Order," she said quickly. She had not come unprepared for this scenario. She had simply hoped that she would not have to put her and her husband's lives in further jeopardy to do so. But Narcissa would do whatever it took to protect her son, her bright-haired boy.

He was her everything. She would stop her heart in a moment if only to give one more beat to his.

Dumbledore sat thoughtfully. The wrinkles etched into his skin and the dark circles underneath his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever. The years were catching up to him quickly. The towering man seemed frail. Narcissa understood.

Suddenly, he reached forward and took the witch's hand.

Narcissa started in shock, but the old wizard held her firm.

"Narcissa, I remember seeing you as a child. You were smart. You were thoughtful. You always had your nose buried in a book and your hair in a braid. Your sisters meant everything to you. I know you have a good heart." Dumbledore looked directly into her eyes and Narcissa saw his memories swimming deep within.

"My family is everything to me," she emphasized.

Dumbledore released her hand. "I will protect Draco."

Narcissa pulled out her wand, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"There is no need for a Vow, my dear. You have my word."

And Narcissa Malfoy trusted him.

"Thank you," she said, with more sincerity than she had said anything before.

With that, she headed towards the door.

"Happy Christmas Eve, 'Cissa," the old wizard said.

Narcissa shut the great door behind her. She had not heard her childhood nickname in years. A bit of warmth bloomed from deep within her, ebbing into her skin and warming her soul for the first time in a long time.

Her son had protection from this gruesome war that she wanted no place in.

A content sigh escaped into the air where she had once stood, as the crack of dissapparation left the corridor empty and still.

**Hello! **

**Here****'****s a small introductory chapter to our first ever fanfic on this site!**

**We hope you enjoy this first chapter and, in case you haven****'****t caught on, this story starts Christmas time of the Golden Trio****'****s sixth year.**

**As usual, the characters of this story do not belong to us, but to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. We do hope that you appreciate our interpretation of her story.**

**Thanks for reading and hang in there with us.**

**-bastwin**


	3. The Ring

Chapter 2: The Ring

Christmas at The Burrow was unlike anything Hermione had ever imagined. Coming from a small family herself, Christmas at home was simple. Her parents would wake her up sweetly in the morning and take her downstairs, where a small handful of wrapped gifts would be waiting under the tree, crackers and cocoa on the coffee table. They would watch her from the couch as she opened her gifts — usually books, pencils, and one year, a kitten named Crookshanks — before going to her grandparents for a quiet meal.

Christmas with the Weasley's could not have been more different.

At the remains of the day, wrapping paper still littered the floor in even the most far-flung corners and Molly's hand-knit initialed sweaters lay abandoned (except for Harry and Hermione's, which they wore proudly). Aviatomobile's flew threw the air, screaming yo-yo's shrieked loudly, and bits of powdered sugar dusted every surface from a box of exploding bonbons that Charlie regretted purchasing.

As Hermione sat in an overstuffed armchair in the corner of Ron's room that night, her stomach full of Molly's cooking, she could not have possibly been more content.

"What is it you've been wanting to tell us, mate," Ron asked, throwing himself across his bed and fiddling with a trick wand, which turned into a rubber chicken and beat him about the head before turning back into a wand.

Harry sat on the floor next to the fire they had made with the day's Prophet that hovered an inch off of the ground.

Harry fiddled with his wand and stared into the flames pensively.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione slid down onto the floor to sit next to him, looking at her friend with concern.

Normally come Christmas time, Harry was bouncing off the walls and as impatient as ever to spend the holidays at the Burrow. He would talk incessantly of practicing quidditch with Ginny, of the pranks the twins always played on him, and of Molly's feasts. He even looked forward to de-gnoming the garden with Ron.

But this past week, Harry had barely spoken to either Ron or Hermione. Something had happened, and he refused to tell them until after Christmas.

"Why not tell us now, Harry," Ron had asked on the train after they had changed out of their school robes.

"I don't want to ruin your holidays," Harry had replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being the hero and just tell us, Harry. We're your friends. When have we not been willing to worry with you."

But Harry had refused to tell them.

However, the joys of Christmas were over. The gifts had been opened, the crackers had been pulled, and the food devoured.

Harry sat quietly for a few more moments, hugging his knees to his chest.

"The Wednesday before we left Hogwarts, Dumbledore asked me to his office."

"What, when?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Just before potions," Harry answered.

"How the bloody hell didn't I notice you were gone?"

"Probably too busy messing up your Hiccoughing Solution," Hermione retorted.

"You're one to talk," Ron grumbled. "Yours was more like a Wheezing Solution."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Go on, Harry."

She looked into Harry's face, bathed in a warm glow. His cheeks looked rosy with warmth, but his eyes.. they were grey and distant.

Come back, Harry. Please, please, come back, Hermione wanted to shout at him. Ever since Sirius's death and Voldemort's attack at the Ministry, Harry had not seemed himself. Hermione didn't blame him. He had just lost the closest thing to a father figure he had ever known, and with him, some of the only remaining memories of his parents.

The whole world rested on the shoulders of a 16 year old boy who had seen far too much loss at far too young an age.

Hermione hurt deeply for him.

Harry continued. "When I got to Dumbledore's office, he was sitting at his desk with Tom Riddle's diary in front of him. When I got closer to the diary, I saw there was a little ring sitting on it. I touched it and suddenly it was like I was in Voldemort's head. Or maybe he was in mine, I don't know."

"What," Hermione said, alarmed.

"Dumbledore grabbed the rings — with his robes, he wouldn't even touch it — and told me to follow him," Harry resumed. "We were walking through the corridors and I realized where he was taking me: to the first-floor girls' toilets. I could hear Moaning Myrtle from a kilometer away."

Hermione noted a hint of annoyance on Harry's face at the mention of the lavatory poltergeist and she couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Stop smiling, 'Mione," Harry exclaimed in exasperation. "Myrtle is a nuisance."

"She's not that bad," Hermione defended. "It's just the first time I've seen you show an emotion other than distress or restrained joy in over a week and it's because of Moaning Myrtle."

Ron shrugged. "Makes perfect sense to me."

"As I was saying," Harry shot his friends a glare, "Dumbledore took me into the first floor girls' toilets. I had no idea why we were there. And then he turns to me and he asks me to speak parseltongue to open the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."

"What?" This time it was Ron to say it.

"So I did."

"I bet watching that old man jump into the tunnel was a right riot," Ron laughed.

"Honestly it was quite scary," Harry confessed. "Now let me finish already."

XXX

Dumbledore and Harry stepped into the large chamber that Harry had not been into in years.

Up ahead was where he had seen Ginny's body, pale and unmoving. Over there, just slightly to the right, was where Harry had stabbed Tom Riddle' diary. The ink still stained the ground. And to the left was where he had killed the basilisk — its great corpse still encircled the cavernous room and Harry still found himself stunned and somewhat frightened by its size. Had he really killed such a mighty beast when he was just 12?

Harry shivered.

Dumbledore turned to look at him. "I know this must be difficult for you, Harry, and I admire your bravery in agreeing to come down here with me."

"Why are we here, Professor," Harry questioned, turning to look at the wizard.

"My boy," Dumbledore set his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

"A what?"

Dumbledore sighed and began walking through the chamber. The large snake heads on either side of them, their large stone tongues dripping the occasional water droplet, were an intimidating sight to behold. Their unmoving eyes looked at Harry accusatorially.

"Some magic is too dark to be discussed in civil conversation, and even now, I hesitate to tell you, Harry," Dumbledore began. "However, as I'm sure you will agree, we are beyond civility. The war is on the horizon."

The pit of Harry's stomach dropped. Of course, he had known this too, but hearing his worst fears confirmed by Dumbledore was like a stab in the gut.

Harry felt like a child again when the Dursley's had left him locked in the cupboard under the stairs: frightened and alone and younger than ever.

"When a witch or a wizard takes the life of another, it rips their soul into pieces. If you were to murder one person, you should would be ripped into two. Kill three, and your soul would be ripped into three pieces. And so on," Dumbledore explained. "Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, using very dark magic, a witch or wizard is capable of removing a piece of their soul, similar to how I remove a memory." Dumbledore held the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled. The wand pulled away a long, blue and silver phantasmic substance. "Then they are capable of putting that piece of their soul into an object."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. He shook out his wand and the memory fell from its tip, twisting before fading and disappearing altogether before it hit the ground.

"When you encountered Tom Riddle's diary, you also encountered Tom Riddle in this very chamber, didn't you Harry?"

Again, Harry nodded.

"While it wasn't really Tom Riddle himself, I believe that it was indeed a piece of his very soul which he trapped in the diary."

"But how," Harry asked, confused. "Who had he killed? The piece of Tom Riddle I saw was still at Hogwarts, he hadn't become Lord Voldemort yet."

"A young girl named Myrtle Waren."

Dawning struck Harry. "Moaning Myrtle?"

Dumbledore nodded. "The very same."

Harry was disturbed. Tom Riddle couldn't have been older than 16 at that time. Harry's age.

"So what does this mean," Harry asked.

"It means that even if you do kill Voldemort, should he have any remaining Horcruxes, then he is not truly dead."

"Is that how he returned?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Most likely."

Harry stopped walking and stared at his feet. A sense of hopelessness overtook him. As if killing Voldemort alone was not hard enough, he may not even stay dead should Harry succeed.

Dumbledore turned to look at the boy. "I know this is a lot to take in."

"Did Voldemort make Horcruxes when he killed my parents," Harry blurted.

Dumbledore sighed. "I do not know."

"Well do you have any idea how many there are?"

"I do not."

"So why are you telling me this?" Anger boiled within Harry. "This is the first time you've talked to me all year and this is what you tell me? That Voldemort has stored his soul into who-knows-how-many objects and we have no chance of killing him?"

Harry was practically seeing red. He was going to die. His friends were going to die. He stood no chance.

"Harry, I understand you must be angry with me. I am telling you this because I have found a solution, a way to kill the Horcruxes and the soul trapped inside."

"That still doesn't tell us how many Horcruxes there are and where to find them," Harry snapped.

"You're right. But it's a start. It's hope. And in time such as this, we must cling to every bit of hope we can find."

Harry wanted to yell at the old daft man to shut up, that it wasn't his life on the line. That he wasn't the 16 year old who was going to be killed by the greatest dark wizard to ever live. That he wasn't going to have his whole future taken away. He wanted to shout at Dumbledore until his throat was raw and bloody.

The body of the basilisk Dumbledore made his way towards had begun to decay, and as the old wizard neared its head, Harry noticed bits of bone beginning to appear as rotting flesh fell away.

"Some help, if you don't mind," Dumbledore called to Harry. His voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the stones.

Harry gritted his teeth as he came to stand beside his headmaster.

"A fang," Dumbledore said, gesturing towards the creature's open mouth. "Pull one out."

Harry grimaced as he reached forward, turning his head and gagging at the scent that emanated out from the creature. He grabbed one of the fangs, and with anger-fueled force, ripped it from the gum.

If Dumbledore noticed Harry's temperament, he said nothing. He never said anything.

"It seems the Basilisk fangs have enough venom to damage a Horcrux beyond repair, as you yourself have proven, Harry, when you killed the bit of Tom Riddle trapped in the diary."

Dumbledore turned back to Harry and revealed the ring that Harry had seen on the desk in the headmaster's office, which the wizard still carefully touched with only his robes.

"If my suspicions are correct, this ring here is a Horcrux. When you touched it, you saw Voldemort, did you not, Harry?"

"It was like he was in my head," Harry confirmed.

The ring made a sharp noise against the stone as Dumbledore set it against the stone ground.

"This ring belonged to Marvolo Gaunt, Tom Riddle's grandfather. He was a pure-blood wizard and a descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself," Dumbledore explained.

Dumbledore paused, and turned to Harry.

"I want you to kill it, Harry."

"What?"

"Go ahead, my boy."

The emotional toll that it had taken on Harry to destroy the diary the first time he had apparently eradicated a Horcrux had been intense. He had laid in the hospital wing for three days, and, even now, just being in the Chamber of Secrets was a struggle. Of course, Harry had only been a child then, and he reminded himself of this as he approached the ring.

The dark, black stone — diamond in shape — shone in the dim light enough that Harry could almost see his own reflection on the gems surface. What appeared to be two golden serpents, their mouths wide open, fastened the stone into place, their tails wrapped together to form the band.

More serpents. Great. As if he wasn't in a chamber surrounded by them.

Without a second thought, Harry took the basilisk fang and struck it against the ring with a sharp clang.

Harry stepped back.

The clanging noise echoed within the chamber.

It began to grow louder. And louder. Before long, Harry felt as if he was entrapped by the sound of the fang hitting the stone and he covered his ears, one hand still clenched around the fang, but the sound was not dimmed in the slightest. It penetrated into his brain and Harry grimaced, turning to look at Dumbledore who himself had his hands covering his ears.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

Harry looked up towards the ring and put his hands down, dropping the basilisk tooth.

"There, it's done," he said, turning towards Dumbledore.

But just as suddenly as these words passed Harry's lips, black smoke began pouring from Marvolo Gaunt's ring.

Harry shot around, the black cloud growing around him. He began coughing harshly. He could no longer see anything, the smoke was so thick and dark around him. It was deeper than simply a moonless night. It was as if Harry had no eyesight at all.

"Professor," he called, stumbling around. "Professor, where are you?"

Harry saw something flash next to him and he quickly turned that way, only to be greeted by darkness.

"Professor?"

Something flashed on the other side and Harry spun that way.

"Is that you, Professor?"

Suddenly, out of the smoke came a figure. Harry squinted his eyes before yelling in alarm and stumbling backwards.

It was Voldemort. And he was walking right towards Harry.

Harry fell backwards, keeping his eyes on Voldemort as he reached for the wand in his back pocket, pointing it towards the approaching figure.

"You killed my parents," Harry yelled.

Voldemort began to laugh. Harry watched as his mouth twisted open grotesquely and fangs appeared out of dark wizard's mouth. The laughing only grew, louder and louder, suffocating Harry's senses.

Harry knew that his fear was paralyzing him. Using all of his willpower, Harry pushed himself from the ground and screamed, running towards Voldemort with a fury.

"I'll fucking kill you," Harry screamed.

But just as he approached the figure, it dissipated.

Harry was standing above the shattered ring, no Dark Lord or clouds of smoke in sight.

Dumbledore walked towards Harry and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Good work, my boy."

XXX

Hermione and Ron stared at Harry in silence.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione leaned over and wrapped her arms around one of Harry's. "I can't believe you didn't tell us."

Ron, who was not sat on the edge of the bed, nodded in agreement, his eyes fixated on something they could not see.

Harry squeezed Hermione's arms before standing up and sitting in the armchair. He twisted his head, flexing his jaw. "What are we going to do?"

"Well," Hermione started. "I suppose we're going to have to find as many of these Horcruxes as we can."

"But how, Hermione," Harry demanded. "And where would we even start?"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, overwhelmed by the task ahead of them.

Hermione knew it was her job to ground them all, to offer direction and keep them all sane. But Hermione herself was overwhelmed. Her heart felt heavy within her chest.

"I suppose we start in the library," she said.

Ron barked out a short laugh. "What?"

"We'll start looking into Voldemort. So far we know he's chosen both his grandfather's ring and a diary as his Horcruxes. Both are sentimental talismans. If we look into his past, I'm sure we can find some more things he may have used," Hermione explained. It was a start.

"And Harry," she continued, turning towards her dark-haired friend, whose face was a mask of despair, "You go talk to Dumbledore. Ask him what he knows of Voldemort. He knew to find the ring, I'm sure he'll have thought of other possibilities.

If Harry had heard what she had said, he gave no indication.

Hermione trend and looked at the fire. She sighed.

Ron sighed.

Harry sighed.

"Do you ever imagine what life would have been like without Voldemort," Ron asked. "I'd still have Scabbers."

"Yeah, well, I'd still have my parents," Harry snapped.

Ron said nothing in return.

Hermione turned towards Harry and grabbed his hand, squeezing it softly. "Harry, we are going to be with you as you go through this. You are not alone."

"Yeah, mate," Ron chimed in. "If we were going to abandon you, I would've done it after my sister was possessed by the Dark Lord."

Harry's lips quirked into a smile.

"Yeah," Hermione said. "I probably would have done it after we got chased by a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest."

"I would have abandoned myself after Quirrell unwrapped his turban and there was Voldemort's face on the back of his head," Harry said.

The three friends laughed.

"We will find a way, Harry," Hermione reassured him. "We always have."

Harry sighed. "I'm just not so sure this time."

Suddenly, the door banged open and Fred and George, faces alight, barged in.

"If you ladies-" said George.

"-And Hermione," pitched in Fred.

"are done chit-chatting, we suggest you come downstairs at your earliest convenience," finished George.

"And if inconvenient, come all the same," Fred added.

"I didn't know you read Sherlock Holmes," Hermione said in shock.

"Hermione," Fred said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she stood, "how come you always doubt us?"

"Come along, boys!" George pulled Ron and Harry up and pushed them along in front of him.

"We were having a serious conversation," Ron grumbled.

After many flights of rickety staircases, they finally reached the living room, where the rest of the Weasley's sat on lump furniture around a raging fire and a lit-Christmas tree.

"Sit, sit, dearies," Mrs. Weasley called to them, patting the empty couch next to her.

As they sat, Bill stood up.

"Now, as you all know, we have a special guest with us this year," Bill started.

"Harry and Hermione," the twins whooped, pumping their fists.

"No, no, even more special," Bill said, waving his hand.

Hermione chuckled as the twins booed.

"My girlfriend, Fleur." Bill turned towards his French beau, who sat blushing prettily.

"As we can all see, this woman is so far out of my league, I can't believe she would agree to date me to begin with," Bill smiled.

"Ain't that the truth," Ron whispered to Fred and George. They snickered quietly.

"Which is why, I stand before you all, to ask Fleur Delacour a very important question." Bill stood before the blonde beauty and closed both of her hands in his.

Bill got on one knee.

Everyone gasped. Fleur began to tear up.

"Fleur," Bill said, his eyes locked on hers. "You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Even now, with a storm approaching, I feel more peace than ever. You are my tranquility, Fluer. My saving grace." He choked in his sincerity and produced a small diamond ring from his pocket. "Will you marry me?"

"Oui! Oui! Mi amor, oui!" Fleur lunged towards Bill, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The room erupted in whoops and hollers and applause.

Hermione looked at Ron, who stood up to pat his brother on the pack gleefully.

Even Harry had a grin plastered to his face as he clapped.

Hermione couldn't help it. She smiled.

In all the pain and uncertainty that was sure to come, in this moment, Hermione allowed herself to feel unadulterated and uninhibited joy in the celebration of love.

Because who knew how long such a thing could last in such a time as this.

**Hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

**We're uploading this one with the first one so you all can get a little bit more of a taste. **

**From here on out, we will most likely be uploading every week to two weeks, although to be honest, it is hard to say for sure.**

**We'll do our best.**

**Let us know what you all think!**

**-bastwin**


	4. Distress

Chapter 3: Distress

Hermione crunched through the wet snow in the Hogwarts courtyard, her jacket and scarf bundled tightly around her. Her layers really did nothing against the pervasive January gale, however, and Hermione's nose and cheeks bloomed bright red. Even after she had made it inside the castle walls and into the well-spelled library, the chill seemed present, as if it had managed to sink into her bones.

Hermione draped her coat and scarf across the back of a chair at a secluded desk and began making her way through the thick shelves of books. As she walked, she raked her fingers through her unruly curls. The wind really had done a number on them.

Hermione scanned the shelves of the Restricted Section. _Macabre Monstrosities__**,**__ Death Omens, Magick Moste Evile. _All of these titles were familiar and Hermione's hazel eyes flicked over them quickly. She was looking for something new, something she had not read before, something that could tell her a secret.

A secret about Voldemort.

As she ran her finger down the old, cracked, and multicolored spines of books as she made her way deeper into the Restricted Section, something caught her eye and she paused.

_Secrets of the Darkest Art _by Owle Bullock.

Hermione's finger hovered over the title.

_Secrets of the Darkest Art_. If there was indeed a book about Horcruxes within the library, this surely must have been it.

Hermione grabbed the tome and opened to the title page.

_Property of Albus Dumbledore, _the page read, in handwritten scrawl. _If you are reading this and you are not he, then this book should be returned to the headmaster's office immediately. _

Curious.

Hermione cocked her eyebrow at the book. What was it doing here?

"Granger," a voice snapped.

Hermione jumped, and, heart pounding, she put the book behind her back quickly.

From around the corner, a white-haired wizard stepped into view, his black robes immaculately pressed. His skin was pale and deathly and if there was any sign that the cold has touched him at all, it was the dark green scarf wrapped around his neck. Even then, his glossy shoes looked untouched by the snow.

"Malfoy," Hermione said. "Can I help you with something?"

"Not if you tried, Mudblood," Draco snarled.

Hermione barely flinched at the slur anymore. It no longer hurt. But it sure as bloody hell made her angry.

"What do you want," the witch snapped. "I don't have the time or the patience for your senseless tormenting, so if that's what you're here to do, don't bother wasting your breath, I have the legs to walk away."

"What are you hiding," Draco looked at Hermione with suspicion. "What's behind your back?"

"None of your business, I'm sure."

Draco looked at Hermione curiously and Hermione furrowed her brows. It was as if he was waiting for her to speak.

"Do you want something," she implored.

Draco paused. He turned around and walked away wordlessly.

Hermione stared after him. What had that been about?

Rolling her eyes, she pulled the book out from behind her back. This was as good as any place to start.

The desk with her belongings awaited Hermione and she folded herself into the chair, cracking the book open to the first chapter.

The wind outside of the castle howled furiously, and as the sun began to set and the sky to darken, the noise was comparable to a ghostly wail pounding against the stone walls and scraping at the glass windows.

Sometimes, it seems as if the weather around oneself can reflect a common mood, a public consciousness. And on this night, that was most certainly the case.

When Hermione finally closed the book — only half-way through — her mind swam with dark magic.

Her stomach turned at what she had just read.

Witches and wizards murdering those they cared about most in cold blood.

Their souls ripping into two.

Three.

Four.

More.

Sacrifices.

Half-lives.

Curses.

Immortality.

The room seemed to spin and her eyes wouldn't focus properly. The shelves around her seemed to turn on an axis as Hermione threw on her coat and scarf, holding the book against her chest and making her way out the library doors and back into the cold.

The snow didn't feel cold. The wind didn't sting.

Well, it most likely did. But Hermione felt too numb to notice. Thoughts ran wild within her, writhing and thrashing.

The wails of the wind were louder than ever, even after Hermione had entered the castle. Hermione could hear them vividly, as if the screams were coming from someplace just next to her. That felt appropriate.

Anger welled up inside of her. Or perhaps it was fear. Or maybe despair.

This darkness was what she and her friends were up against. Harry, Ron, the rest of the Weasley's. Bill and Fluer.

A pang struck Hermione's heart at the thought of them in particular.

Then there was Hagrid and Dumbledore and McGonagall and Neville and Luna. And her parents.

Oh, her parents.

They didn't deserve what might happen to them because of her. They weren't a part of this world. It shouldn't ever touch them. It should never even have the chance.

This Hermione felt ferociously.

The portrait of the Fat Lady came into sight.

"Baubles," Hermione whispered to the woman. The password still hadn't been changed since Christmas. She should talk to a prefect about that.

The deep crimson reds and bright golds of the common room greeted Hermione warmly. A small bit of her anxiety began to melt away as she sat in a table near a far corner away from some of the students playing Wizard's Chess near the fireplace.

_Dear Mum and Dad, _Hermione scratched onto a piece of parchment, her hands faintly shaking.

_I missed you both at Christmas and I hope you are well, _she began.

XXX

"Leave," Draco growled as he entered the dormitory he shared with Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Crabbe,

and Goyle in the Slytherin Dungeons.

The latter two were lounging on their beds. They looked at the blond wizard, unmoving.

"I said leave," Draco snarled.

The two boys quickly got up, shoving one another out the door.

Draco waved his wand, and the entrance sealed itself.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he yelled rapidly, pounding his fists into the emerald duvet.

"Fuck," he spat through gritted teeth.

They didn't know yet.

Draco threw himself onto his bed and pushed his hands into his eyes.

His mother had shaken him awake late on Christmas Eve.

"Mum," Draco said groggily, rolling over. "It must be three in the morning, what do you want?"

Narcissa sat on the edge of his bed and looked at Draco.

Anxiety began creeping in at this unusual series of events and Draco sat up, grabbing his wand and casting a ball of dim golden light that floated slowly to the ceiling.

"Mother, what is it?"

Narcissa took one of his hands in her own.

"You know how much I love you, don't you Draco," she asked, peering into his eyes.

"This isn't a suicide note, is it?" Draco was alarmed.

Narcissa smiled softly. "No, of course not."

"Then what in the world could possibly be the matter?" The anxiety began crawling up his veins and his heart began pounding slightly faster. Was his father dead?

The witch hesitated.

"Draco," A sigh escaped her lips. She didn't know where to start. She supposed the beginning was the best place, as cliche as that may be.

"Draco, I never wanted any part in this war. As soon as I found out that you were growing inside of me, I wanted out. I wanted no allegiance with the Dark Lord. After I gave birth to you and held you in my arms for the first time, my mind was set. I told your father that our family was out."

Draco had never heard this story before and he stared at the witch before him with curiosity and shock.

"Soon after that, the Dark Lord disappeared," Narcissa continued. "I was overjoyed. You, your father, and I could live in peace, a normal wizarding family. Safe."

Narcissa's knuckles turned white as she balled her fists in her lap. Lines of frustration appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"But when the Dark Lord returned, Lucius went behind my back. Now here we are. Not only death eaters, but with our own home serving as base camp."

"I'm sure Father knows that this is what's best," Draco began.

"He knows nothing," Narcissa spat.

Draco had never heard her show such animosity towards his father before.

"But Mother, we have even greater power now. We're going to correct things. Our position as one of the Sacred Twenty-eight will mean something again, as it should. We'll be rightfully worshipped." Draco spoke with vehemence.

Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut. Her hopes that her son had been able to withstand his father's rhetoric had not come to be.

"I understand, sweetheart," she said, opening her eyes and taking a deep breath. "But I need you safe. Your safety means the world to me. You want me to be happy, don't you?"

"Of course," Draco responded. Was she asking him to run? There was no way she could ask him to do something so disgraceful, was there?

"You are not to kill Dumbledore," his mother said.

Draco barked out a laugh. "Yes, I am. The Dark Lord himself asked me to do so. This is my great calling."

"And, you are to spy for the Order."

Draco looked at his mother in shock. No, no.

"_What_," he spat in absolute disgust.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was worse than running.

"You will do as I say," his mother — in his mind, the stranger — said with finality.

"And why the _bloody hell _should I," Draco practically shouted. "Why shouldn't I turn you into the Dark Lord right now?"

But as soon as the words left his lips, Draco knew the threat was empty. And so did his mother.

"Draco," she said softly. "I know this is difficult. I know you must be angry and surprised."

"You think?"

"But my precious son. You are not evil. You're young and you deserve to live your life. Carefree. I do not want you caught up in this."

"As if you didn't just put me in more danger?"

"I'm giving you a way out. Dumbledore has promised your safety in return for his life and information on the Dark Lord's plans."

"Do you really think that the Dark Lord won't find out?" Draco's voice dripped skepticism.

Narcissa sighed.

"I'm sure eventually he will. But that's for me to worry about. And by then, you will be safe. You will be safe or I will wring Dumbledore's neck myself."

"The old quack can't even protect his precious Potter from basilisks or werewolves or even wizards with Polyjuice Potion," Draco said. "You're wasting your time."

"He will protect you and you will do as I say." Narcissa's demeanor was hard.

Draco nodded. Whether or not he meant it, he wasn't sure.

"And you must _not _tell your father."

Draco's eyes widened. He didn't know?

He nodded, this time dumb with shock.

His mother sighed deeply and closed her eyes, relief flooding her senses.

She took her son's right arm and pushed his jumper up to his elbow.

That disgusting mark stared back at her, the skulls eyes hollow and dark as the snake curled from its open mouth and down towards her son's wrist. The Dark Mark.

How dare someone tarnish his perfect alabaster skin like this. How dare someone muddy her son.

She pulled his sleeve down and stood upright.

"Goodnight," Narcissa said.

She turned and walked from her son's room as if nothing of any note had just taken place and she headed towards her own room, where her husband slept soundly and ignorantly.

Pride was something Draco valued deeply. He had grown up in a wealthy home, born to a wealthy name, with the incredible luck of being pure-blood. No, not luck. Fate. He had been chosen by some god under some name or another to be pure-blood. He was special. He mattered more than others. That was simply a fact he had grown up knowing. It was the thing that assured him that Harry Potter did not need to be his friend, his family was indeed better than those Weasley's despite their closeness, and that the filthy Mudblood was below him even if she was consistently narrowly beating him in grades and securing her position as top of the class year after year.

But now, his pride was in tatters. His own mother had asked him to work against his father, his hero. She had asked him to work against his own future successes, against the very thing that would give him favor in the eyes of the Dark Lord. His importance, his security, his very _meaning _was being violated.

As he thought of it, Draco's stomach turned.

This was not what he wanted. He didn't want to secretly be working for _them. _For Potter, and that Weasel, and the Mudblood and the rest of their dingy group.

The blond wizard's mouth curled in disgust.

Draco had seen the Mudblood herself in the library. She had stood there in his peripheral vision at first, and the instinctual bile rose in his throat. But then his heart had started pounding. Did she know yet? Had that daft old wizard told her? And by extension, Potter and Weasley?

He had approached her cautiously, waiting for any hint that she knew his secret.

As he stood there, the witch had merely stared at him.

"Do you want something," she had asked, her eyes looking at him as if he had grown a third head.

She didn't know.

He had turned and walked away.

Maybe Draco should have felt relief. But the impending doom that soon, soon they _would _know, seemed to be looming in the near distance, coming closer with every passing second, waiting to crush him.

Not just crush him, destroy him. Invalidate him. Leave him worthless.

"_Fuck,"_ Draco groaned again.

The doorknob jiggled.

"Mate, are you having a wank or something," Theo's muffled voice called.

After a flick of Draco's wand, the door swung open.

"You're the fucking wanker." Draco rolled his eyes and shoved past Theo and out of the room.

XXX

Hermione jolted awake.

Ron was holding her arm tightly.

"Gee, that must have been some dream you were having."

"Was I," Hermione asked. "I don't even remember."

She looked around. She was still in the common room, sat at the table where she had been writing the letter to her parents. Examining her hands, she saw that the ink had smeared along her palms. Her letter was ruined.

"You've got some… words.. on your nose too," Ron said, gesturing towards his own face.

Hermione groaned. "Excellent."

Ron stood next to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Is there something you want," she asked.

"Oh! Yes. Dumbledore asked us to his office," Ron said. "I nearly forgot."

"What? Now?" The witch exclaimed.

"Yeah, he stopped Harry and I after dinner. Which you slept through, by the way. Harry's waiting for us there now."

"What could he possibly want?" Hermione's mind instantly begin brimming with all the things that could be wrong. Had Dumbledore ever called all three of them to his office before? Not even once that she could recall. In fact, Hermione had never even been inside of his office now that she thought of it.

Ron shrugged.

Quickly standing up and scooping her quills and parchment into her bag, she followed her ginger best friend through the corridors of Hogwarts. The closer they got, the less and less students they found meandering in after-dinner conversations or studies.

Harry stood outside the great stone gargoyle as they approached.

"Do _you _know what this is about," Hermione questioned.

Harry looked nervous himself. "I really haven't the slightest idea."

This response did nothing to ease Hermione's apprehension.

"Cockroach Clusters," Harry whispered to the gargoyle. It began moving.

"You have the password to the headmaster's office," Ron asked it disbelief. "Wicked."

Ron smiled deviously at Harry and Harry smirked in return.

"Honestly you two," Hermione said in exasperation, pushing past the two boys.

As they entered Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster looked up from his desk at the three friends as they entered.

"Ah, yes, come in and have a seat." He motioned towards three chairs in front of him.

"What is this about, Professor," Harry asked.

The headmaster sat back in his chair. "What I'm going to tell you must remain between us."

Hermione frowned.

"All three of you know the importance of a secret. And especially this one," Dumbledore said. "Nobody but you three, the rest of Ron's family, Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus Lupin will know of this. I have yet to tell the others and you must not be the one's to break the news."

What could this possible be about? Why only such select members of the order?

Hermione's brows furrowed. This must be very serious. 'What is it professor?"

Dumbledore turned to look at her for the first time. "My dear, you have words on your nose."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot and she rubbed her sleeve against her face.

"Draco Malfoy will be spying for the order." Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together and turning to look at all three friends individually.

Hermione's draw dropped.

"Draco Malfoy?" Ron spat in disgust, stealing the name from Hermione's own mouth.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry seemed just as shocked and disgusted as his red-haired companion.

Hermione realized her mouth was still open. She promptly closed it and swallowed.

The image of the blond wizard in the library popped into her mind, his shiny shoes rounding the corner and his mouth curved into a cruel smirk.

He had been waiting for her to say something.

What is to give indication of this- that he was a spy?

She ran through their conversation in her head.

"Can I help you with something," she had asked.

"Not if you tried, Mudblood," Malfoy had snarled back.

"Professor," Hermione said, her knuckles white on the arms of the chair. "Draco Malfoy called me a Mudblood just today. I do not think he has any sympathy for our cause."

Dumbledore looked at Hermione apologetically. "The boy is not sympathetic to our cause. He is acting as a spy on his mother's request, for his safety."

Ron laughed loudly. "What a mummy's boy."

"Why are we giving him protection?" Harry sounded outraged. Hermione didn't blame him.

"We are the side of the light. Of the good, the brave, the honorable. Do not forget that," the old wizard warned.

He was right, Hermione knew that. But in all honestly, Malfoy was an arsehole. The way he treated her was unacceptable and infuriating and not at all good and brave and honorable.

Dumbledore stood up. "I am telling you three this so that you can keep an eye on him and his behavior. I do not know what to expect from the boy."

"Yeah, who's to say he won't lie to us?" Harry interjected.

Hermione nodded in agreement. He had a good point.

"I don't. But if he does, he will lose his protection. And I can only hope that his mother's wish for his safety is enough to keep him in line." Dumbledore rounded the desk. "I understand that this is a difficult situation. But I am confident that it is the right thing to do."

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited the office and made their way through the corridors back to Gryffindor Common Room, the two boys laughed and sneered in utter disbelief.

"Malfoy, a spy? I bet he hates that. This is even better than 'eat slugs!'" Ron laughed joyously.

Harry grinned. "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out we know."

"I wonder what his father thinks," Ron clapped his hands together. "His precious son, a blood traitor!"

Hermione listened silently, her thoughts whirring at a speed she couldn't begin to keep up with.

**Hello everyone!**

**Hope you all enjoy this chapter. **

**We both really appreciate all the follows and favorites that this story has been getting, as well as the reviews!**

**We love hearing from you guys and are so grateful.**

**The next chapter should be out in a week or two! We'll find out even more about how Hermione feels about the situation…**

**-bastwin**


	5. Cruel Intentions

Chapter Four: Cruel Intentions

The cold glow of moonlight illuminated varying shades of grey in the stone floor. Hermione stared at them through the gap in her bed curtains. The achromatic shades were barely differentiable, a slightly darker patch here with bits of lighter portions there and there.

Hermione had no idea how long she had been staring at the floor. From the progression of the moon, it had likely been approximately two hours. However, she would not have been surprised to find out it had only been five minutes, or perhaps five hours.

The thoughts inside of her head were throwing a bacchanal tonight. They ran around ceaselessly, loudly within her and had not quieted down in the slightest since Dumbledore had informed her

Draco Malfoy was a spy for the order.

Her stomach and chest physically ached. It felt as if they were hollow in a way, yet at the same time, as if a fist was being wrapped around her and clinched tightly. There was a tension, a pressure.

She ached, physically. Yet it felt distant.

Some part of her had withdrawn within herself, perhaps to make room for all the chaos and turmoil. It was as if she had become a shell. Or perhaps like she, herself — perhaps her soul — had buried itself layers deep and begun acting on autopilot.

Draco Malfoy. The boy who had tormented her in her youth. Who had formally introduced her to a slur. Who had bullied her best friends. The first boy she had ever punched.

And he was a spy for the Order.

The Order of the Phoenix. The secret organization that housed the rebellion. That all of her friends were a part of. No, her family.

Draco Malfoy now had all of their lives in his hands.

Surely he must know. Surely he must revel in that. Surely he will lie to them all and surely he will kill them all.

Hermione knew his safety mattered to him. But she also knew his pride mattered more.

The only thing that really gave Hermione any hesitation about the potential of Malfoy's power

was that his mother wanted him safe. She knew he cared about his mother.

But his father — Draco seemed to care about his father more.

Did Lucius Malfoy know?

He couldn't. He was too close to Voldemort. The Dark Lord would find out.

Hermione's head swam with questions and thoughts. But mostly scenarios.

She imagined the Weasley's, all dead, their eyes open and unstaring, Ron among them. She imagined Tonks and Lupin and Kingsley and Mad Eye, their bodies twisted and stone-like. She pictured Harry, his limp corpse near her own, a scream permanently formed on his lips. She was staring upwards. The sky was grey. Like the stone floor of her dormitory room. The lighter bits, not the darker ones.

And there was Draco Malfoy, smirking. Staring at her. Staring at all of them.

"Blood traitors and Mudbloods," he said, the picture of disdain.

He turned and walked away. In the distance, she could hear Voldemort's voice congratulating him, promising him even greater prominence within his better, purer wizarding society.

A cloud passed over the moon, and Hermione could no longer see the floor.

She rolled over and closed her eyes. Her heart still felt tight, her stomach knotted.

She did not trust Draco Malfoy. She would never trust Draco Malfoy.

XXX

"Get the fuck up." A pillow slammed into his face forcefully. Then another one, immediately afterwards.

Draco shot upright, anger boiling inside of him.

Blaise and Theo stood above him, each holding a pillow.

"What the hell is wrong with you two," Draco roared.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're pitiful," Blaise said. "You haven't gone to classes in two days."

"And I'm sure as hell not going to Defense Against the Dark Arts." Draco snorted a pulled the blankets back around him.

"Did some girl break your heart," Theo asked. "Was it Pansy?"

"Pansy Parkinson? Merlin, no." The thought was mad. Parkinson looked like a pug.

"Then what has your panties in a twist?"

Theo sure was a bastard. Draco glared at him.

"The only thing you need to worry about are your grades — more specifically, your father finding out just how bad they are." The blond wizard was in no mood for his friends inquiries.

Theo's face went white. He put a hand on Blaise's shoulder. "Now that I think about it, the library is where we're headed."

"Smart decision," Draco grumbled, still angry, as the two Slytherin's turned and walked out.

Bringing up Theo's father wasn't kind, but Draco wasn't presently in the most amicable mood.

Now that he had the dormitory to himself, Draco sighed deeply. He really should go to class.

To be honest, Draco was scared.

Yes, scared.

The thought of running into Harry and his two tiresome tails disturbed him.

Did they know yet?

This question had run through his head continuously for the two days he had remained in the Slytherin dungeons. He had not even gone to the Great Hall, knowing he was bound to see them there. He had had one of the house elves bring him his food.

Theo and Blaise were onto him though, and the last thing Draco wanted was their bloody concern and questioning.

The more questions they asked, the more lies Draco would have to keep up with, and the more prone Draco would be to slipping up. And if they ever found out…

Draco shook his head quickly and shot out of bed.

They could not ever find out. He'd kill himself first.

Looking in the mirror, Draco saw his blond hair was a disheveled, matted mess. The glass reflected his grimace.

This would not do.

An hour later, the fresh and clean Draco Malfoy made his way through the Hogwarts corridors, his robes pressed and his shoes as shiny as ever.

_Shiny shoes_, his father had always said, _are what separate you from those who won't amount to anything._

Potter's shoes were always dirty. Draco always noticed.

There was an open table at the back of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and Draco took it, setting his leather bag on the table.

A quick scan of the room told him that there was no sign of the Potter, Weasley, or Granger. Relief flooded his senses.

Draco turned and stared out the window. The classroom had one of the most beautiful views in the castle in his opinion, and on this morning, there was no exception.

The crisp January light reflected across the lake far below, transforming the glassy surface into a sea of glimmering radiance. It had frozen over for a brief time in December, sending many of the lake's inhabitants deeper into the water and towards the Slytherin common room, where warmth emanated. The first years were enchanted. Draco remembered when he himself had been. Now it was just a bother. The fights that broke out between the mermaids often disturbed his studies.

While the lake had thawed, much of the snow on the grounds had not. The sun reflected against the snow with intense luminosity that left sunspots dancing in Draco's eyes even after he looked away.

Winters at Hogwarts always felt a little more like home to Draco, what with the frigid chill and the alabaster tones. If some albino peacocks found their way onto the grounds, the illusion would nearly be complete.

A thud interrupted Draco's thoughts as two bags hit the table next to him and two bodies took the seats beside him.

Draco looked up irritated, only to have a sliver of fear deflate his anger in an instant.

Potter and Weasley were sat beside him, both looking at him with smirks on their ugly faces.

Draco quickly covered his fear with the facade of of annoyance and quirked his nose upwards as if he had smelled something distasteful.

"Can I help either of you with something," Draco said, the irritation present in his tone.

"No," Harry replied cooly and simply, pulling out his DADA book as Professor Snape entered towards to the head of the classroom. "Just attending class."

Harry smiled at Draco.

Draco wrestled back the desire to punch him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger was sat across the room, next to Parvati Patil. She glanced in his direction and after a brief moment of eye contact, quickly looked away. Her face had gone white.

Draco's own face paled.

Shit. They know.

Hot bile crept up Draco's throat and he fought back the urge to vomit.

They fucking knew. They knew he was a spy. They knew.

His hands turned clammy and he felt his neck and spine go cold.

"Class, please turn to page 472 in your textbooks," Snape drawled, flicking his wand so the lights turned off and the projector began to glow, whirring in a way that grated at Draco's already fried nerves.

He numbly opened his textbook.

Inferi.

Draco almost laughed.

Of course they were talking Inferi.

Draco too felt like a dead man walking.

As soon as Snape dismissed the class, Draco grabbed his books and his bag and walked briskly out of the room, making sure to look as casual as possible. As if he had somewhere to be, not that he was running away.

Because he wasn't running away.

Despite this rhetoric repeatedly running through his head, Draco's heart slammed against his chest painfully. With each contraction of his left ventricle that pumped his blood from his toes to his fingertips, the pain became more precise and it was carried throughout his body with every lub dub. It was like an infection, spreading quicker and quicker and Draco's breaths became shorter and shorter, faster and faster.

He turned into the boy's lavatory at the end of the corridor quickly, peering behind him. No flash of red or unruly hair crossed his vision, but this did nothing to ease his anxiety.

Draco let himself slide to the floor next to the sinks after making sure the room was empty.

Merlin, was he having a panic attack?

His hands were shaky and his breathing was ragged, escaping his lips in short, strangled bursts.

What the fuck was this? Why was he so goddamn scared?

An anger boiled beneath the panic and Draco tried to bring it closer and closer to the surface, to overpower his hysteria.

Fan the flames. Fan the flames. Let them consume you.

Fuck Potter and his stupid, idiotic friends. Harry Potter? The Chosen One? Hell. No. The boy was weak. They relied on _him, _on _his _help. He didn't need to be scared of him. He held the fucking power.

Draco was the strong one. Draco was the pureblood with the powerful family. Draco was the one who the true Chosen One. His home was chosen to be the Dark Lord's home and he himself was chosen by the Dark Lord to kill his greatest rival.

Draco faltered.

Of course, that wasn't true anymore.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it to feel the sharp pain as something other than despair and chaos.

Ron Weasley burst into the lavatory.

He spied Draco and grinned.

"Mate, he's in here," the ginger called out the door.

Harry Potter came in after him. As he looked at Draco, he hesitated for a moment, a brief look of concern flashing across his eyes.

Draco practically growled. He didn't need Harry Potter's fucking pity.

Climbing to his feet, Draco glared at the two boys in front of him.

"Beautiful morning isn't it," Draco smiled at them both, one of those close-lipped, venomous smiles.

"Oh yes, just brilliant," Potter said, slowly making his way towards the blond wizard. The redhead mirrored him.

"Especially knowing that you work for us." Weasley dropped the bomb.

Draco physically winced.

Shit. His mask had fallen.

Weasley grinned.

"I don't fucking work for you." Draco's knuckled were clinched white by his sides.

"Your mum says you do," Potter responded.

"At least I have one, Potter." It was a low blow, and an obvious one. But Potter always responded, and even now, looking at his face, he felt satisfaction when he saw the boy's jaw tighten.

"Hit a nerve, did I," Draco taunted.

"Don't you dare talk that way to my friend" Weasley said sharply. "We could give you up to Voldemort if we like."

Draco felt his knees go weak, but he stood firm.

"And I could kill you all if I like," he said cooly, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, as if the temptation to give them bad information was something he thought of casually.

The three boys all seemed to hesitate at once, realizing the position they were in.

They all needed each other.

Cursing quietly under his breath, Draco picked his bag up off the tile floor and swung it on his shoulder.

"Now if you'll excuse me boys, I'll be going," Draco said, hands in his pockets.

"Cru-"

Weasley smacked the wand of Potter's hand. "Harry, no."

Draco's head shot towards the scarred wizard in shock and outrage. "Were you about to use the fucking cruciatis curse on me?"

Potter looked stunned himself.

Draco sped towards Potter, pushing him harshly into the wall and pinning him with his arm across Potter's shoulder.

"How fucking dare you," the blond wizard spat. "I swear I will kill you, and your little Weasel and Mudblood pets if it's the last thing I do."

Draco released Harry for a second before slamming him back into the wall once more, the brunette's head bouncing off the wall with a sharp and painful cracking noise.

Draco swept out of the room as Weasley rushed towards his friend.

Granger stood outside, chewing on her bottom lip. She straightened up as Draco passed.

"Filthy Mudblood," the wizard growled.

XXX

Staring into the fireplace, Hermione shook her head.

"I can't believe you did that, Harry."

She could barely look at him.

He had used one of the Unforgivable Curses. And the Cruciatis Curse at that.

"I didn't actually do it-" Harry began, defensively.

"Yeah, but you would have," Ron interjected. "The spell was halfway out of your mouth."

"He deserves it," Harry said bitterly.

A part of Hermione agreed, and she was vaguely horrified at the thought.

Ron was silent too.

Hermione's eyes began to hurt. She had been gazing into the fire for some time, but she couldn't seem to rip her eyes away. The day had been a difficult one and the fire was a beautiful, deadly distraction.

What is it about fire that hypnotizes? That makes one feel strangely whole?

Is it the flame itself? The color? The crackle? They assure us safety in a sense, a primal security.

Or maybe it's the smell, the deep, pervasive smoky scent that lingers as a reminder that not all things leave.

It's danger encased by a metal grate and a handful of logs and Hermione got to sit back and stare at it, with no fear of the future despite its capability, it's very nature.

Hermione needed more of that in her life. It seemed there was rampaging evil all around her and so many were using their power in its name.

She needed more good.

Tearing her eyes away from the hearth, she braced herself for what she was about to bring up, steeling her softness and tucking it away for the time being.

"We need to discuss Horcruxes."

She had finished reading the book and it was not in the slightest a pleasant read. It had truly, truly been horrible. Evil.

After relaying to Harry and Ron the information that she had gathered form the book, the three of them sat quietly for a moment.

"We need a game plan," Harry declared.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I'll keep doing research on Tom Riddle in the library. You can help me." She gestured toward Ron.

He groaned and Hermione shot him a glare before grinning softly. Some things never change.

She turned toward Harry. "I think you should talk to Dumbledore. He actually knew Tom Riddle and found the ring in the first place. He may know where to look next."

Harry seemed hesitant. "I don't know if he'll want us involved, to be frank."

"We're in this as much, if not more, than he is," Hermione stated firmly. "If he doesn't see that at this point, you have every right to make him."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry nodded.

Hermione reached for her two friends' hands.

"We will do this. Together." She squeezed them both before letting go, tucking a small bit of loose hair behind her ear.

Hermione would always give them as much encouragement as she could muster, and in a small way, she received it back.

"Well," Ron stood up. "I want to play some Wizard's Chess. Hermione, I would challenge you, but I'd not stand a chance."

He clapped Harry on the back. "You're on, mate."

"And what makes you think you stand a chance against me," Harry questioned.

Pulling the board and pieces our from a shelf in the corner, Ron began to set up the game quickly, as if entirely on muscle memory. "I could do it with my eyes closed. You may be the Chosen One, but I saved your life playing this game first year."

Harry sat across from Ron and grinned. "You got me there."

Hermione smiled at them both, settling herself in an armchair off to the side with Crookshanks in her lap and a nice book in her hands.

She sighed contently.

Sometimes, moments like these gave her whiplash. But mostly, she was more grateful than she could ever express.

**Hey guys!**

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	6. Revelations

Chapter Five: Revelations

Apparition always left a smokey flavor in Albus Dumbledore's mouth. He remembered the first time he had apparated with his brother, Aberforth, who had complained of a sour, tangy taste. Dumbledore had come to learn that everyone experienced apparition differently.

It was an interesting thought and in some ways, suggested that everybody's magic was somewhat different, as if the apparition varied based on who was casting on.

Of course, he wasn't all that surprised this. Every day, magic seemed to reveal something new to Albus. They were not always good things.

The old man rubbed his aching muscles as he looked around the field where he landed. Where usually golden waves of grain would be glinting in the sunlight, nearly blinding in their radiance, was nothing but barren, brown hills against a grey sky.

However, in the distance stood the precarious Burrow, a wonder of architecture hidden in the English countryside.

The home reminded Albus of what a home should be; messy and cozy. He was reminded of his own in his youth Godric's Hollow. A frown formed at the reminiscences of times long gone, long shattered.

There was no use dwelling in the past.

After only knocking on the door once, it quickly opened to a beaming Molly Weasley, her cheeks rosy and her demeanor bright.

It was always a pleasure to see Molly Weasley and he thought warmly of how lovely a mother she must be to her children.

"Dumbledore," she said brightly, opening her arms out in a welcoming gesture and stepping back from the door, placing her hands on her hips and smiling cheerily. "Come in, come in! It was such an unexpected joy to hear from you! I can't imagine why you've gathered us few here, but I'm glad of it."

She nodded firmly and offered Albus a lumpy armchair as he stepped inside. He sat down, noting the beautifully knit afghans and pillows decorating the living room. He did admire a good knit or crochet pattern.

"You hold tight dear, and I'll go gather the others. They're around here somewhere," she trailed off, walking through a door and disappearing beyond.

Glancing around, Albus pleasantly noted all of the demonstrations of domestic magic which he had not seen in years, from pans being scrubbed by an infinitely soapy sponge, or a clock the recorded the homes' inhabitants, to the duster dutifully flitting about a cabinet of knickknacks.

"He's here," Albus faintly heard Molly yelling.

Shuffling ensued and Molly quickly hurried back in, pulling a small plate of sandwiches and a tea platter out, setting them before the old wizard.

The tea did look rather appealing, and as he picked up a cup, the tea pot tipped into, filling the small cup to nearly the brim. Two sugars and a dash of cream also obliged themselves, exactly Albus's preference.

He took a sip. Just the right temperature: slightly hotter than one may normally like it, to warm the soul.

"Albus! So nice to see you," a masculine voice said. Lupin entered, smiling at his old professor.

Nymphadora Tonks stood to his right, also grinning, her hair bright pink, stark against her husband's mundane exterior, disregarding the long scars cut across his face.

Gingerly setting his tea into its saucer on the tray, Albus stood with a warm smile and greeted the loving couple, as well as Arthur as he entered, having just arrived from the Ministry.

They all sat around the couch, each sipping tea and eating sandwiches. Albus could tell from their demeanors that they were anxious. In times of war, unusual groups such as this did not meet unless something was wrong.

After taking a final sip of his tea, Albus clasped his hands together in his lap. Immediately, silence ensued and everyone's attention focused solely on him. They had been waiting.

"What I am about to tell you is of the utmost importance, and I would be very appreciative if you kept this information private," the old wizard began.

Four heads nodded simultaneously.

"On Christmas Eve, Narcissa Malfoy came to me and informed me that Voldemort was going to have Draco kill me," he said gravely.

The room went dead quiet as the witches and wizards took in the information they had just heard. Albus had not realized just how much noise their eating and drinking had been making, as it was in their absence that he suddenly realized how quiet it was. He could hear the pots and pans from the kitchen and the clicking of charmed knitting needles.

As he looked around the room, he could see worry on the four faces. They were scared for him, for his life, for what losing him might mean for their side of the war. Voldemort was scared of him and that was extremely important. To lose him would be to lose a great advantage.

"Narcissa Malfoy told me this because we struck up a deal," Albus reassured.

The concern in the air seemed to be expelled in the slightest, however a new anxiety crept in, the unsure kind. The one where you're stepping on new territory and not sure how those around you are going to react.

Arthur cleared his throat and the three others looked in his direction. He looked as if he was thinking furiously, an ill-expression on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly clenched his lips shut and shook his head.

"I do not believe we should be making deals with the Malfoy's," Arthur spoke after a moment, deciding to disregard his hesitation.

"Don't question Dumbledore," Molly said immediately, hitting her husband's arm.

"No, no, it's alright, Molly," Albus reassured. He turned to Arthur. "I quite understand your conviction. Lucius Malfoy has not been kind to you or to your family."

Arthur nodded his head, just once.

"However, the deal that was made is something I sincerely hope you all can agree with. I was faced with a dilemma and I made a decision in the moment, one that affects you all. I would be deeply regretful if you believed that the decision I made was a poor one," Albus admitted.

"I'm sure you made a wise choice," Remus chimed in. "Just what does it entail?"

"Narcissa Malfoy wants the protection of her son, Draco, and in return we will be given my life," he paused for a moment. "But more importantly, Draco will spy on the Dark Lord on behalf of the Order."

Again, the room returned to silence. This silence seemed much more deafening than the previous ones. Albus felt a twinge of anxiety flutter in his stomach. Would they think he was a daft, old fool? He was making the decision he felt was right, and he truly did believe this. War was a tricky time. Tricky decisions had to be made.

Yet again, Arthur was the first to speak.

"We can not trust them," he beseeched, a firmness underlying his urgency.

No one spoke up to disagree.

Albus took a deep breathe. He was not surprised they would need some convincing, they had not been in his office that night, they had not been able to see Narcissa eyes reflecting her son's image, her heart quietly overflowing with love and anxiety behind her sharp tone and practiced demeanor.

"I understand," the old wizard said thoughtfully. "However, I do like to think that my instincts have been true, and I do believe we can trust them."

"Why should we," the Weasley patriarch immediately replied.

Albus has never heard him hold so much conviction before in his life, and it made Albus hesitate slightly.

"The Malfoy's have done nothing but belittle our family and look down on anyone outside of their Sacred Twenty-Eight," Arthur continued. "They were one of the first to respond to the Dark Lord's return. Their home serves as his home for Merlin's sake! They are Slytherin through-and-through."

"My mother, she was a Slytherin," Tonks said softly.

All eyes turned to look at her, but she looked at Albus. He gave her a soft smile of encouragement and he could see her strengthen just slightly.

"She's Narcissa's sister," the woman continued. "Narcissa is my aunt, and Draco my cousin. You all know my mother, she is _good_." Her voice was passionate, imploring the others to understand her stake in this situation. It was this very reason that Albus felt it was right to tell her and Lupin, to give her this hope for her family, for her mother.

The others sat thoughtfully, taking in what she had said. Albus noticed Lupin grab his wife's hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

"Dear," Molly turned to Arthur slowly. "I understand that the Malfoy's have not always been the kindest, and I would never trust Lucius Malfoy. And Narcissa and I… well to say we don't have much in common would be an understatement. But the one thing we do is that we are both mothers. And I would do anything to keep my children safe."

Arthur looked into his wife's eyes.

"She must be truly desperate to go to her enemies for help. The least we could do is give it to her, and to her son," Molly urged. "If you cannot trust them, trust me." She squeezed her husband's hand. "He is just a boy, Arthur. The same age as Ron, and as Harry."

Looking down at their clasped hands, Arthur slowly nodded. "I trust you," he spoke quietly.

Albus nodded gratefully.

"In my experience as Draco's teacher, he is nothing but a boy desperately seeking love and validation," Lupin said thoughtfully. "I believe that this is a wonderful opportunity for the Order to open our arms to him, to offer him what he needs. To keep him safe, to disarm his hatred."

Tonks nudged him. "Tell them his Boggart, love."

XXX

Draco stood in the line, fighting desperately to keep his calm, cool facade in tact as the the wardrobe approached, one student at a time.

A fury boiled in the bottom of his stomach. How dare this dimwit professor make them stand before their entire class and declare their biggest fears.

The mental list of his classmates Boggarts grew.

_Dean Thomas- a hand?_

_Granger- a failed exam (fucking typical)_

_Longbottom- Snape (what a joke) _

_Padma Patil- a cobra_

_Parvati Patil- a mummy_

_Weasley- a spider (pitiful)_

_Seamus Finnigan- a banshee_

Who else were making lists in their heads, recording the weaknesses of others? Who was going to use Draco's against him?

Another thing- Draco didn't actually know what his would be.

He was afraid of many things to be frank, although he wasn't sure what it was most. Hippogriffs, perhaps? Ferrets? His time having been transformed into one had genuinely scarred him, and from time to time he would wake up in cold sweats, having just dreamed that he had been trapped in that small body once again and jerked around helplessly.

Would it be Voldemort?

He wasn't really scared of Voldemort though. He didn't think anyway. He saw Voldemort more as an opportunity, an opportunity for his family to finally be recognized by all these scum who thought they were so much greater than they really were. He couldn't wait for the opportunity to stand above them, his supremacy finally acknowledged.

_Penny Haywood- a werewolf_

And suddenly, there was nobody in front of him but that large, wretched wardrobe.

Was it just him, or did everybody suddenly lean in? It was probably just him, but he couldn't tell for sure. He tried his best to write it off as paranoia, but the paranoia wouldn't let him.

The stuffed toy wolf sat on the floor before him, the werewolf post-Riddikulus charm. He wasn't sure what was so funny about it. He could swear its little button eyes looked at him menacingly.

All of the sudden, the toy started to spasm. It stretched and convulsed, shifting and transforming.

The wolf vanished altogether and a man took his place.

Draco was looking at the floor and the first thing he notices were the man's shoes. They were shiny, so shiny he could see his own reflection in them.

Draco's heart sped up. Nobody kept their shoes that shiny. Nobody except a Malfoy.

His head shot up.

His father stood before him, dressed immaculately, long platinum hair cascading down his shoulders. He leaned on his cane as he glared down at Draco, eyes cruel.

"Of all the great Malfoy's to be born, I somehow managed to father the worst," Lucius Malfoy sneered.

Draco's heart dropped and suddenly everyone else in the room vanished. The blood pumping loudly in his ears drowned everything else out.

Was that… was that true? Did Boggarts tell the truth when they spoke to you? He wish he had payed more attention in class.

"You're pitiful. You're not the brightest, didn't manage to make the most important connections," Lucius listed. "You're not going to make it very far. Chances are, you'll marry some Mudblood and disgrace the family even more than you already have."

His breaths came shorter and shorter. His head was foggy. He could barely focus. It was like when he'd fallen from his broom when he was a child and the wind had been knocked out of him. He kept panting for air and none came. The world around him was disorienting and his brain focused completely inward on his own state of being. On surviving.

"Every day I regret the moment you were born. If only it had been someone else," his father spat.

"Someone braver, more cunning, more ambitious. Willing to do whatever it takes. Not… _you. _Your very existence sullies my name."

That one stung slightly more than the others. Draco had always looked to his last name, to his family, with pride. Was he tarnishing it? Was his very existence giving his last name less and less worth, giving his parents and his family more and more shame? Because he wasn't top of the class, and didn't have the smartest, most influential friends? Because he wasn't the most brave, or ambitious?

Lucius came closer to Draco, looking down at him and directly into his eyes.

_"_You're nothing but a disappointment and that is all you'll ever be."

"Draco, use the spell," he could hear Professor Lupin say. It sounded like he was speaking through layers of water, but it snapped Draco out of his trance and he inhaled deeply, air seeming to finally return to his lungs.

He gripped his wand. What was the spell again?

His father drawled on and Draco's heart continued to pound, his knees weak and his neck sweaty.

Hilarious? Hilarity? Ridicule? Ridiculous?

Riddikulus!

Draco held up his wand, but the words barely came out louder than a whisper.

"Louder," Professor Lupin yelled.

This time it came out as something between a whisper and his talking voice.

Lucius still stood before him. "You're no better than those filthy house elf slaves. I rather declare you a bastard than have you inherit my family's fortune. To me, you're a filthy Mudblood."

Draco planted his feet and screamed the spell this time.

"Riddikulus!"

Suddenly, his father stood before him, dressed in a bright pink and sequined gown. His blonde hair was curled and teased into a bright bouffant at the top of his head, his lips and cheeks covered in rouge.

And best of all, he was barefoot.

The rest of the class erupted into laughter, but it still sounded distant to Draco. His blood had not stopped pounding and the world around him still felt numb.

He felt a hand gently press against his back, leading him to the back of the classroom, but he didn't know who it was or who he passed.

The rest of the class period, he stood in the back, staring at the floor. Nobody tried to talk to him, which somehow made him even more angry. They all knew something private about Draco, something he had really just discovered himself. Were they going to use it against him? Bully him? If he hadn't already sullied his family name, would this?

His mental checklist was left uncompleted.

XXX

"I think we'll do him some good," Lupin said.

"I whole heartedly agree," Molly declared. "No child should ever fear their father," she said fiercely.

Arthur said nothing, but Albus could tell he was in agreement with the others, even if he didn't want to be.

"Good," Albus said, standing up. "I am so glad to hear we are all in agreement."

He paused. "Tonks, I assume you are?"

"Of course," she said. "He's family one way or another."

"I do have one hesitation," Lupin spoke up. "I don't think Harry, Ron, or Hermione should know that he is a spy."

Albus hesitated. He hadn't told them that they knew. "Why is that?"

"The animosity between those three and Draco is rather… intense," Lupin began. "Reminiscent of James and Severus."

Albus remembered always having to break up fights between those two, and he had oftentimes feared that they would become violent beyond just emotionally harmful. There was something in their natures that seemed to refuse peace.

"I fear that tensions may further escalate. They will have opposing values while acting on the same team. That can be dangerous," Lupin elaborated.

Arthur made a noise of agreement.

"I have already told them," Albus said.

Everyone's eyes snapped to him.

"I understand now how perhaps that may not have been the best option, but I trust Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They are just children, but they are good ones. They have good hearts," he said.

"But they still are just children," Arthur pointed out immediately. "I have seen good kids hurt one another without the barest hint of remorse out of their anger."

Albus nodded. "I will keep an eye on them," he reassured. "No harm will come to Draco and no harm will come to Harry, Ron, or Hermione."

"You may want to keep a special eye on Hermione," Tonks said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped under his chin thoughtfully. "She has told me some of the things Draco has said to her." She shook her head. "His upbringing… it has taught him some terrible things."

Albus understood. "I will keep them all safe.

And the others nodded. Whether or not they fully trusted him or if he had fully rid them of their hesitations, he did not know. But he would do his best to relive them of their anxiety in their coming months. Albus trusted that their was goodness in Draco and knew it was within Narcissa. He just needed to prove it to the others. It would simply take time.

As he was leaving, Molly called to him.

"We will take care of him," she said under her breath. "I promise."

Looking into her eyes, Albus could tell her heart had broken at Lupin's story. Molly meant every word she said.

"You just be sure to take care of my children too," she added firmly. He could tell she didn't mean just her and Arthur's.

Albus smiled softly and nodded before disapparating, the smoky taste returning to his mouth as he landed in his office.

XXX

Hermione was sick of feeling sick. For the past week, she had spent too much time in bed and far too much time in her head. Her days were spent either in classes or in bed. She even did her homework in bed, something she knew was a horrible habit. Besides, the ink splattering on her sheets was getting out of control and she couldn't help but feel guilty for the house elves who would have to do their best to scrub it out. As for meals, she would usually take her dishes from the Great Hall and eat quickly in the common room before returning to bed.

She wanted to feel strong again.

Of course, Hermione knew that there was strength in vulnerability and letting yourself feel negativity every now and then, however she just didn't feel like herself when she wasn't up and about and getting things done. And at this point, the negativity had spiraled into self-sabotage and neglect of sorts.

Besides, there were Horcruxes to be found.

So she walked to the library as upright and confident as she could, her hair brushed to waves and her clothes pressed, not a hint of laziness about her.

Harry had talked to Dumbledore. He had told him that he wasn't sure how many Horcruxes there could be, but that they were likely personal objects, as Hermione had guessed.

He had told Harry to talk to Professor Slughorn, however. Apparently, he had had somewhat of a relationship with Tom Riddle when he was at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had tried to get some of Slughorn's memories that included Riddle, however Slughorn had refused. Dumbledore felt that he knew something and was hoping that he would warm up to Harry more, as Lily's son. Lily and Slughorn had apparently had quite the relationship.

Harry's smile while recalling the story at both finding out a lead as well as more importantly having learned another fact about his mother had warmed Hermione's heart. It gave her something to fight for.

And so, she was headed to the library with a rejuvenated spirit to research more about the Riddle family. Perhaps, to work on a paper for potions as well, discussing where she had gone wrong in brewing Drought of the Living Death. However, for once, her schoolwork could wait. She didn't much care for potions anyway.

Turning a corner in the castle, Hermione saw one person at the end of the nearly empty corridor and froze.

Draco Malfoy.

Heart pounding, Hermione quickly slid behind one of the many stone columns lining the corridor, the cold stone pressed against her back.

Her breathing went ragged and panicky and Hermione could barely think.

After a moment, she began scolding herself.

Nothing before had ever given her panic like this. And she had come essentially face-to-face with a basilisk, fought werewolves, been paralyzed and trapped underwater, and battled Death Eaters. Malfoy's very own father for Merlin's sake! And she had done all of this with a clear head and a heart full of passion to help her friends.

Who was she to cower before Draco bloody Malfoy? She was the brightest witch of her age and what was he? A prissy, rich, momma's boy who goes crying to his father every opportunity he gets.

He did not deserve a moment of her thoughts, much less her fear and dignity.

Straightening her back, she stepped out from behind the column.

But what she saw made her steps falter and she quickly hid behind the column again, peering out as discreetly as she could manage.

A house elf had approached one, one not wearing any clothing besides a stained and torn pillowcase with arm holes cut out of it, clearly still enslaved. So it belonged to the Malfoy's then.

The elf was carrying a package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with ribbon. Malfoy took it from the house elf and the it quickly disappeared with a snap of its fingers.

Untying the ribbon and unwrapping the paper, Malfoy began producing a pair of socks and two ties, as well as some beautiful white feather quills — which briefly made Hermione turn green with jealousy — and bottles of ink.

But at the bottom of the package, Malfoy produced a small piece of white paper.

Hermione watched his face turned white.

That was most undoubtedly the first piece of spy information.

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	7. Devastation

Chapter Six: Devastation

When she was a child, Hermione remembered this time of year with her family. She would go sledding down the road while her dad ran behind her and her mom would laugh and take photographs. They would always tuck her wild hair into a little red knit cap and her hands were always covered by little plum purple mittens. She vividly remembered the snow biting at her nose and her little mitten-covered hands gripping the twine that was tied to the small wooden toboggan.

When she was eight, they took a family trip to Rome. They stayed in a shabby little motel, but Hermione barely recalled those bits. What she could recollect were her parents holding her hands as they walked through the bustling city. They gave her a penny to throw into the Trevi Fountain. She remembered the large columns looming over her as she sat on her dad's shoulders at the Pantheon. She remembered the giddy of her parents.

When she had turned eleven, she remembered the homemade cake they had made her. It was caramel and banana with those candles that never seemed to blow out. Hermione had gotten so frustrated with them that her mom plucked them off the cake, still burning, and extinguished them in the sink. Later that night, an owl had pecked at their window furiously with something in its mouth and after many attempts to get it to fly away, her dad had gone outside only to have the owl drop a letter with her name at his feet. That's how they found out she was a witch.

Months later, she remembered them taking her to Diagon Alley. She knew they were perhaps alarmed at their surroundings, as she was herself, but they were brimming with excitement for their daughter and peeked in every storefront, pointing at all the exciting things they wanted to purchase for her. They had spent too much money on buying her books, robes, candy, and various enchanted objects. Hermione had felt guilty, but her parents had acted as if the money was worth nothing to them.

Her first Christmas break home, they had waited in anticipation to pick her up from King's Cross, and the second she appeared, they scooped her into their arms, tears wetting their cheeks. When they had gotten to their home, they asked her to share all her stories and tell them about her friends with such joy that Hermione had nearly forgotten all about the troll and her lack of friends previously.

They still greeted her the same way every year.

Sitting in a chair directly in front of Dumbledore's desk, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

Voldemort was planning to kill all the living parents of Muggleborns, as a threat.

At least, that's what Malfoy had said. And there was the little piece of parchment, with his mother's handwriting, sitting right there on the desk. It's presence never left her consciousness, even when she looked away. And, when she did manage to make eye contact with it, it felt like glass shard in her iris's.

Dumbledore was looking at her with pity. She didn't even need to look at him to know, she just felt it.

When he had called her and her alone into his office, she had known something was likely wrong, although she hoped perhaps she was being paranoid, and he was going to congratulate her on her academic successes and continuing to lead with her marks as top of the class. Imagination running wild, she even fantasized that he would give her a medal or a trophy of some sorts.

This was worse than anything she could have ever dreamt.

Logically, it seemed Voldemort would go after her parents first. She was in fact Harry Potter's best friend. In that moment, a part of her regretted ever talking to him back in first year.

"What do I do," Hermione pleaded, not even bothering to wipe the falling tears as her hands sat limp in her lap.

Looking up, she came face to face with his pity and she quickly looked back down at her hands. They looked small and pale; fragile.

"Well," the old wizard began. "We could try to put them into hiding, in one of the Order's safe houses."

"Is that enough? What if he finds them there? Aren't some of the Death Eaters trying to track down the safe houses anyway?"

Dumbledore nodded. "There are no risk-free plans."

With desperation, she sifted through all the ideas in her head in a panicked fury but none of them were perfect and all of them had holes and her parents were going to be fucking murdered by Voldemort if she didn't think of something fast and why was her brain failing her now? If they died, who would greet her at the train station and who would buy her the greatest Christmas gifts and who would cook Shepherd's Pie like her father and who would take photographs like her mother and what the hell would she do? Would she die if they died because she already felt like she was dying at the mere thought of their deaths.

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath.

Out of the tumultuous sea of Hermione's brain, one thought floated slowly to the top. She stared at it, and was horrified. But she could see no holes in this plan. Perhaps it was her parent's saving grace.

She almost didn't dare speak it.

"What if I obliviate them," Hermione said. Her hands grew clammy as she spoke. "So they forget me."

Looking at Dumbledore, she tried to calculate his response off of his facial expression, but he was stone still and staring at her, evidently thinking this through.

"We could move them to America. Or New Zealand, or Australia, or somewhere off of this continent," Hermione hesitated. "But Australia is the furthest so that makes the most sense to me."

Hands beginning to shake, a part of her desperately wanted to grab the words out of the air and push them back in.

The room was filled with a pregnant pause, a silence in which Hermione could hear every heartbeat and feel every thought as a pressure within her skull. Her hands grew sweaty and her temples began to ache the more and more she thought of this disastrous idea.

It seemed to last forever, that silence.

_Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump_. Her heartbeat was so loud. Could Dumbledore hear it?

"I think that will work," he spoke. "However, are you sure you are willing to do this, child?"

"Of course I am," Hermione responded without a moment of hesitation. She wasn't sure if she really was willing to obliviate her parents, however she was more than willing to do anything to save them.

"Very well, I will do it tomorrow," Dumbledore stood up, a clear invitation to exit.

She did indeed rise to her feet, but in protest. "What? I thought I would do the spell myself!" Of course she would! This may be the last time she see her parents as well as their family home. But most importantly, her parents.

"I… understand your desire to do so," the old wizard began. "However, that would be extremely difficult to a degree I am not able to fathom. Are you sure you'd be able to go through with it?"

"Of course." Her voice had trembled slightly. She set her jaw. "Of course."

"Obliviating one's parents is indeed not a common task in the slightest and I worry for your well-being. You have been through so much, and at such a young age." Dumbledore looked at Hermione, and again, the pity was in his eyes. Perhaps this time, it was more like regret. "Would you be able to handle more?"

Immediately, Harry came to mind. He was her age and he had undoubtedly gone through much more than her. Parents killed, raised by abusive relatives, godfather killed, trials and tribulations without fail each and every single year, and, of course, the fate of the entire wizarding world resting on his shoulders.

The worst thing Hermione had gone through outside of her adventures with Harry was the time her grandparents died within a week of one another or when her childhood dog had been run over.

"Yes." Her voice did not waver this time, although her mouth felt unbelievably dry. "I can do what needs to be done."

Dumbledore walked over to her, his hands outstretched. She took them. It felt odd holding his hands. They seemed fragile too.

"Very well. You may Disapparate tomorrow at noon." He gave her hands a squeeze.

Hermione smiled back, the best she could. It most likely looked more like a grimace.

XXX

"The pairings are as followed," Professor Slughorn began. "Malfoy and Weasley-"

Draco audibly groaned.

"It would do you well not to groan, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn said, looking down his nose at the blond wizard. "You two need to work together well if you're going to get good marks on this antidote."

For the past month or so, Slughorn had been forcing them to make antidote after antidote and Draco was sick of it. This time, it was the Wiggenweld Potion, which reverses the effects of Draught of the Living Death. At this moment, Draco much rather drink a cauldron of that instead of working for even a second on its remedy with Weasley.

"_Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring,_" Draco began singing quietly, but loud enough that Weasley would hear as he made his way towards him. "_That's why all Slytherins sing, Weasley is our King_."

Weasley stopped in front of Draco and scowled. "Don't you bloody dare, you foul git."

"At least I wasn't born _in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King._"

The look on Weasley's face was everything and Draco would have given up his fortune three times over to take a picture. His skin was bright red — nearly the color of his hair in fact — and there seemed to be a furnace raging behind his eyes.

"You went home crying to your mummy after I beat the magic out of you in Quidditch last year. Sure did make you eat those words, didn't I," the redhead spat.

"You sure tried, but they always seem to be in my mouth." Draco began humming the tune.

"Just go get the Draught so we can add the antidotes," Ron grumbled sourly as he began making his way towards the ingredients cabinet.

Thirty minutes later, the pair were adding flobberworm mucus and for whatever reason, the potion was refusing to turn the bright purple the book said it was.

"We've added too much," Weasley said, stirring the potion.

"Does that look yellow to you," Draco snapped. "If we've added too much, it turns yellow and we add the Honey water. It's still bright purple. So keep fucking stirring." He added another four drops of mucus.

The purple only seemed to be getting brighter.

"This can't go wrong, I need these marks to be good," Ron groaned. "Maybe if you stopped breathing your evil, death-eater breath on it it would decide to turn red like it should."

"The reason isn't my breath you idiotic wanker." Draco added five more drops. "Your precious little Granger isn't here to do your assignment for you and you just don't know how to function without her telling you exactly what to do."

"I can do things without her," Ron spat. The defensiveness in his tone still managed to bleed through and Draco jumped on the opportunity.

"Hit a button there, didn't I, Weasley?" He smirked.

"You wish," Ron replied, stirring more and more rapidly.

"That was a weak comeback to end on, maybe you and Potter should get together and practice." Draco looked around the room, searching out the bushy-haired witch and the "Chosen One." He couldn't seem to spot them. "Where are your lousy little friends anyway?"

"None of your business."

"Aww, have they gone off on adventures without you?" Draco pouted his lips in mock sympathy.

"Mind your own fucking business and would you _please_ add more bloody mucus."

Draco added ten more drops as Weasley stirred. The potion quickly jumped to a bright, golden yellow.

"Couldn't have managed to do that in the first place, could you," Weasley taunted. "You need your mummy and daddy to tell you how to do everything, don't you?" His tone returned the mock sympathy.

Draco glared. "Just add the Honey water."

All of the sudden a chaotic calliope of noise erupted from the front of the classroom. Draco's head shot up and his jaw dropped open, not sure if what he was seeing was real or an affect of breathing in the potion.

By Slughorn's desk, the door seemed to have exploded, wood slivers flying everywhere, stone dust filling the air. All the students towards the front were coughing and one girl began screaming, holding up her hand in front of her. A large sliver of wood was poking out of it and bright red blood was dripping down her hand.

Slughorn shook himself out of shock and began making his way towards the girl, speaking out words of comfort as the enormous, spindly, dark legs of an acromantula protruded from where the door had once stood and his large body quickly followed, seeming to take up half the space in the room. Its many eyes, glinting red, jumped here and there sporadically, seemingly scanning the room.

The entire room erupted in screams.

**Hey everyone!**

**So sorry for such a long wait! Life has been pretty hectic. Expect more frequent posts from here on out.**

**Thank you all so much for your patience!**

**Enjoy this small chapter. The next one will be much longer and be posted much sooner. **

**-bastwin**


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